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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24980524">caterpillar in the tree</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises'>fanfictiongreenirises</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Batman Bingo 2020 [22]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Bullying, Dick Grayson is Robin, Don't copy to another site, Drowning, Fluff, Gen, Good Grandparent Alfred Pennyworth, Hurt/Comfort, Insecure Dick Grayson, Protective Bruce Wayne, Wingfic</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 07:34:35</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,710</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24980524</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/fanfictiongreenirises/pseuds/fanfictiongreenirises</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Dick’s wings, so bright and cheerful now, so different to how they had been wilting when Bruce had first taken him in, were going to be the death of Bruce.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>He hadn’t realised just how much light they emulated. It was like standing beside a spotlight. Dick’s outfit was a modified and reinforced version of his costume when he’d performed, which was already rather bright, especially beside Batman. But combined with those wings, and it was a wonder Dick couldn’t be spotted through solid walls."</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Dick starts to withdraw and Bruce has no idea why.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alfred Pennyworth &amp; Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson &amp; Alfred Pennyworth, Dick Grayson &amp; Bruce Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Batman Bingo 2020 [22]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1622032</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>430</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Dick &amp; Bruce, everybody loves dick</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>caterpillar in the tree</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>For the "Drowning" square on my Batman Bingo card ^~^ pls ignore the blatant brushing over of said drowning in the actual fic </p><p>This is also my first wingfic!!! Hope you all enjoy ^~^</p><p>Title from Miley Cyrus' Butterfly Fly Away.</p><p>Shoutout to @tallestpenny who helped me come up the concept for this fic!!!</p><p>Disclaimer: Don't own DC bc if I did theY WOULD HAVE WINGS</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">THIS FANFICTION IS HOSTED ON <b>ARCHIVE OF OUR OWN</b>, WHERE YOU CAN READ IT FOR <b>FREE</b>. IF YOU’RE READING THIS ON A DIFFERENT WEBSITE, IT WAS POSTED THERE <b>WITHOUT</b> THE AUTHOR’S CONSENT.</p><p> </p><p>“B!”</p><p>A solid weight leapt into Bruce’s arms. If it hadn’t been for months of practise, Bruce would probably have dropped Dick. He <em>had</em> dropped him, once, when Dick had flipped from Bruce’s shoulders into his arms. He could still remember the look of utmost betrayal on Dick’s face, fixed instantly by Bruce frantically shoving one of Alfred’s cookies at him and a promise to let him stay up an hour past his bedtime.</p><p>“Dick,” he greeted.</p><p>Dick’s wings wrapped around Bruce’s torso, never touching his feathers, leaving that last gesture of intimacy up for Bruce.</p><p>Bruce’s own wings, which hadn’t moved of their own accord in <em>years</em> – outside of muscle memory and training instincts, that was – had begun to twitch forward now when Dick hugged him. The first time they’d done so, he’d nearly had a heart attack. Now, it was plain anxiety that kept him from hugging Dick properly.</p><p>“How was work?” Dick asked, springing away from Bruce in the next breath.</p><p>Bruce shrugged, the edges of his lips twitching upwards slightly. “Just like every other day.”</p><p>“So…boring?”</p><p>Bruce had yet to see Dick walk from one room to the next with both feet on the ground the entire way. He neatly swerved to avoid Dick’s legs as he cartwheeled.</p><p>“I sprayed one of the board members with a fountain pen,” Bruce offered. He was immediately rewarded by a peal of laughter.</p><p>“Which one was it? Was it Old And Stuffy or was it Old With A Long Beard or—”</p><p>“It was Old With Earhair.”</p><p>Dick whooped, and Bruce’s mouth turned into a full smile this time.</p><p>Bruce had never seen wings as bright as Dick’s were. They were a deep golden, letting off flecks of light when sunlight fell on them. Even the underwings were as striking, which was rare. They wouldn’t change colour for quite some time, and most peoples’ underwings were plain shades in their youth.</p><p>Bruce’s own wings had… <em>shifted</em> when his parents had died. Already in a state of flux, the change in the colours had halted, everything draining out of them in a single night to pool at the tips of this wings in a stark white.</p><p>Bruce didn’t complain, though. His mostly black wings were perfect for his night job.</p><p>“So?” Dick prompted, bouncing up and down a little as he followed Bruce into the kitchen.</p><p>Bruce gave him a questioning look as he grabbed the muffin sitting on the countertop for him. Alfred had always left him a snack for when he got home from school; his habits hadn’t changed just because Bruce was now a grown adult who went into an office on a semi-regular basis.</p><p>“Do you want a—”</p><p>“Alfred says it’ll ruin my dinner,” Dick recited before Bruce could finish his sentence. “So?”</p><p>Bruce took another bite out of the muffin, waiting for Dick to elaborate. When he didn’t, Bruce said, “Dick, I have no idea what you’re asking.”</p><p>Dick looked as though he was about to let out a dramatic exhale, but then he straightened. His posture, already rather good for a child of nine, became enough to satisfy Alfred’s etiquette classes. He placed his hands at the base of his spine, chest sticking out a little. His wings, which would normally shuffle around behind him, usually helping with balance, were now in picture perfect folded form.</p><p>“As you know,” Dick began, like this was a speech he’d practised, “I’ve finished all the training you’ve had me do to go out as Robin. I’ve passed all the tests you’ve given me. I’ve stayed in the weight bracket for my age, height, and wingspan for a whole fortnight. You told me that once I’d done all that, I could go out with Batman as Robin.”</p><p>Bruce hadn’t thought they’d ever get to this night. He’d thought that perhaps Dick would lose interest, that he would be satisfied now that Zucco had been captured. He should’ve known better. He should’ve seen that determined glint in Dick’s eyes.</p><p>“I remember,” he said finally, after having taken extra time to finish his mouthful. “But only for an hour tonight, okay?”</p><p>Dick’s excited whoop drowned out his words. Despite being relieved that at least Dick would be under his supervision, Bruce couldn’t help the prickle under his skin that wondered whether he shouldn’t be trying harder to persuade Dick to give this up.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Dick’s wings, so bright and cheerful now, so different to how they had been wilting when Bruce had first taken him in, were going to be the death of Bruce.</p><p>He hadn’t realised just how much light they emulated. It was like standing beside a spotlight. Dick’s outfit was a modified and reinforced version of his costume when he’d performed, which was already rather bright, especially beside Batman. But combined with those wings, and it was a wonder Dick couldn’t be spotted through solid walls.</p><p>Their agreement was that Dick would only be allowed to patrol Thursday and Saturday night, for a few hours.</p><p>On Saturday, as Dick bounced around the Cave in costume doing his warmup routine, Bruce pulled out a thick military grade wing paint that he’d modified. It was entirely black, made to disguise the true colour of the wing. Bruce had done his best to make it as light as he could – not only was it made for adult wings, but it was also not suited for flexibility or speed. Or even comfort, if he were honest.</p><p>“Dick,” he called, walking over to one of the benches. Dick was up and beside him in an instant. “You need to use this when we go outside.”</p><p>Dick eyed the container. “Wing paint?” he said sceptically. “Isn’t that stuff bad for your feathers?”</p><p>“It tends to dry them out, but we’ll oil them after we get back. It shouldn’t have too much of an impact on your wings if you only use it a few hours every week, but I’m still looking for a permanent solution.”</p><p>“A permanent solution?” Dick echoed. He swung himself up onto the benchtop, undoing the container. “For what?”</p><p>“Your wings are…” Bruce didn’t know how to say this without giving off the wrong meaning. “Very bright.”</p><p>“Yeah…everyone always liked taking photos with me 'cause of it.” Dick had begun painting one wing. Bruce, with a glance, asked if he could help, to which Dick nodded. “We had this special wing paint for when we would perform in the big cities. It had glitter in it, but it was only for the tips of the feathers, because you don’t wanna <em>blind</em> the audience.”</p><p>“No, you wouldn’t,” Bruce agreed absentmindedly. He wished he had a bigger brush. After a moment, he asked, “How does it feel?”</p><p>Dick moved one wing, grimacing slightly. “Heavy,” he said. “I dunno how great my timing’s gonna be with this on, B.”</p><p>Bruce had planned for this. “You can practise before we head out. I still have some research to do.”</p><p>The difference in Dick’s movements was stark in contrast. Bruce winced every time the frustration flashed over Dick’s face, knowing that he was rightfully annoyed at being pushed back even farther in his preparation. A part of him - a very large part - hoped that perhaps this would be the thing that pushed Dick over the edge, convinced him that Robin wasn't something he wanted to be.</p><p>But when they got back to the Batmobile, after a long night of patrol that Bruce was sure didn’t meet Dick’s expectations, he wore a giant grin on his face and was bouncing slightly even as he yawned.</p><p>“Thanks for keeping your promise, B,” Dick said, idly scratching at the wing paint. His cheeks were flushed from exertion and the cool night’s air even as he rubbed his eyes.</p><p>Bruce grunted in acknowledgement, unsure of how else to respond. “You did good tonight,” he said instead.</p><p>This time <em>Dick</em> was the one who looked uncomfortable. “You don’t have to make me feel better,” he said, his voice picking speed as he continued: “I know my movements were terrible, but I’ll work with the paint every day after school to get used to it and I’ll stop relying so much on speed and agility to—”</p><p>“Dick,” Bruce interrupted, somewhat alarmed. “You were good out there tonight. I wasn’t trying to make you feel better. You dealt with the wing paint much better that I would have.”</p><p>“Oh,” Dick said, sinking back into his seat. While he didn't seem nearly as cheerful as he had a moment ago, he didn't look too disheartened.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>The following day, Bruce came home from another day of being useless at the office to find Alfred staring him down as he chomped his way through an afternoon snack.</p><p>“Alfred?” he asked, swallowing down a giant mouthful. Alfred never <em>usually</em> got mad at him for working his way through food like a madman after getting home.</p><p>“There appears to be an absence of noise today,” Alfred said in response, busying himself with wiping down the spotless countertops.</p><p>Bruce blinked. “There…is?” There <em>was</em>, wasn’t there?</p><p>Where was Dick’s background chatter?</p><p>“Did Dick not come home after school?” he asked. Had his ward been kidnapped?</p><p>There was a glimmer of approval in Alfred’s eyes as he turned to Bruce – he was on the right track. “He arrived earlier than usual, actually.”</p><p>“Doesn’t he have band practise after school on Mondays?” He remembered this specifically, because work on Mondays seemed particularly intolerable every time he remembered that Dick would come home almost at dinner.</p><p>“He apparently skipped band practise today.” Another pointed remark designed to make Bruce come to another conclusion. It was really no wonder that he’d become a detective, with the amount of fishing Alfred made him do to figure out his blunders.</p><p>“I…see.” Bruce didn’t see. “Where is he now?”</p><p>“Master Dick is apparently under the impression that he needs to spend <em>more</em> time practising.” Alfred’s voice was disapproving. “Master Bruce, I don’t know what you said to him last night to give him that impression, but the boy went straight to the Cave and has not surfaced for even a moment.”</p><p>Bruce exhaled. “Robin uses a heavy wing paint, and it’s been throwing off his balance. He feels the need to improve with it.”</p><p>Alfred hummed, tidying up the remainder of the snacks Bruce had consumed.</p><p>“Excuse me, Alfred,” Bruce said as he stood. “I need to go downstairs.”</p><p>Dick wasn’t using wing paint when Bruce entered the Cave. Instead, he had on the wing weights that Bruce regularly practised with. As Bruce watched, he attempted to go through a series of hand-to-hand manoeuvres that Dick had mastered at the very beginning of his Robin training.</p><p>Bruce waited until Dick had gotten to the end of a particular routine before he cleared his throat. Dick jumped guiltily, evidently not having expected Bruce to be back.</p><p>“B!” he squeaked, wings fluttering a little behind him, their movements dampened by the weights.</p><p>“Dick,” Bruce greeted. “I heard you didn’t go to band practise.”</p><p>Dick shrugged. “I wanted to get in more training with heavier wings. So that I’m ready for Thursday.”</p><p>Bruce resisted the innate human urge to crouch down to Dick’s level, instead remaining standing. “Training like this, with weights not meant for developing wings, will only harm you and your growth. You need to be more practical and efficient.”</p><p>Dick nodded, eyes determined. “Yes,” he said. “You’re right.”</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Dick was rubbing oils into his wings when Bruce walked into the living room one Sunday morning, after a night of patrol.</p><p>“Morning, B,” Dick said, the tip of his tongue stuck out as he tried to reach a spot closer to shoulder blades.</p><p>“Good morning,” Bruce greeted, sipping the tea he’d been given instead of his usual coffee.</p><p>He sat down across from Dick with the paper, scanning headlines and skimming through various parts of the articles. The <em>Daily Planet</em> was at the bottom of the list, because he liked to pay special attention to the messages Superman was trying to inject into human society.</p><p>When he paused to turn a page, Dick had gotten only a quarter of the way through his underwings, tugging at the appendages in a way that looked like it should hurt.</p><p>Bruce frowned. He’d never seen Dick treat his wings – or any body part – with anything less than respect. He’d always assumed it’d been a quality embedded in him by his upbringing, that caring for his body would allow for his body to do what he needed it to do.</p><p>“Do you want me to help?” Bruce asked, already partway to putting down the empty teacup and paper on the coffee table; Dick had always accepted help with things like this, from painting his wings before he learned the most efficient way to do it, to assistance with homework he didn’t understand.</p><p>“I’m okay, thanks,” Dick said a little too quickly.</p><p>Bruce frowned a little in confusion, but went back to his paper.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Bruce,” Alfred said. “I think something has been bothering our young master.”</p><p>Bruce looked up from where he’d been pouring case reports. “Something from school?” he asked. He tried to remember anything Dick had said or done that’d been uncharacteristic of the boy.</p><p>“He seems… withdrawn lately,” Alfred said carefully. He was dusting Batcomputer as they spoke, the little duster moving lightly over the keyboard and monitors.</p><p>Bruce’s brow furrowed as he tried not to be irritated at this sudden new direction his brain was going in. He needed to work on this case, but he also needed to make sure Dick was in peak condition, both physically and emotionally.</p><p>“He… didn’t try to hug me when I came home yesterday,” Bruce said. “But he was doing homework in his room.”</p><p>Alfred hummed a little in acknowledgement. “He has begun to do that quite a lot, recently.”</p><p>“His homework?”</p><p>“He’d previously completed most of his schoolwork in the kitchen, Master Bruce,” Alfred told him. “And he would try to finish it before you arrived, in order to spend more time with you.”</p><p>“Oh.” Well, now that Bruce thought about it, he <em>had</em> noticed in the last week particularly that Dick had been spending less and less time with him in the afternoons. He’d just chalked it up to increased pressures in his studies. Or perhaps that he’d gotten over the novelty that he’d seen in Bruce and Batman, and was now doing things alone in his room like Bruce had done at Dick’s age.</p><p>Dick was meeting with his group for a school project at the library at the moment. Bruce told himself he would speak with him once he got home, but with the pressure to solve the case, the thought slipped his mind entirely.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>“Robin, wait from above. If you see him coming this way, your job is to distract. Do <em>not</em> engage.”</p><p>“Got it, B.”</p><p>Batman was currently running on frosted grass in pursuit of three bank robbers who’d somehow gotten their hands on alien technology. They’d used it to break into three bank vaults in one night, and would’ve gone virtually undetected had it not been for their incessant need to smoke.</p><p>“Batman, one of them is coming this way!”</p><p>Bruce growled in annoyance; he’d been hoping the third man had followed the other two. It’d only been about two months of Dick coming on patrol as Robin, and this was the first time they’d had to separate. He hadn’t realised just how much anxiety it would create.</p><p>He swung one of his batarangs at the robber closest to him. The line attached neatly swung around and the man tripped, going sprawling. Bruce would normally have waited to secure him properly – even if the rope was resistant to most weaponry, there were still a number of ways to get free of it – but tonight he had no time. He had to get to the second robber so he could check on Dick.</p><p>Instead of using handcuffs, Bruce used a mild tranquilliser on the captured bank robber, informing the police of his location even as he ran ahead.</p><p>The second one had gotten his way to a car and was in the process of hot-wiring it. Even from a distance, Bruce could see how badly his hands were shaking.</p><p>Batman didn’t pause to say anything, as he often did. He threw a batarang so it would land right above the man’s hand, perfect to terrify without doing any damage (to the robber; the car was a different story).</p><p>The robber fumbled with something that was on the seat next to him, and Bruce ducked almost before he’d consciously realised that he was shooting the same laser technology the robbers had used to break into the bank.</p><p>The shot went wide, lighting a nearby tree on fire and breaking a telephone booth into two. Bruce grimaced at the damage, at the knowledge that there were probably more of these inventions out there.</p><p>Bruce had to get him out of the car. From what he’d seen, the device took five seconds to recharge before it could fire another shot. Bruce had five seconds to get to the car door.</p><p><em>Four</em>.</p><p>Bruce landed on the bonnet.</p><p><em>Three</em>.  </p><p>He kicked through the windshield, hearing the terrified yelp of the robber as he clicked the trigged again and again.</p><p><em>Two</em>.</p><p>Bruce grabbed the man by the collar, pulling him out of the car.</p><p><em>One</em>.</p><p>He had the tightest grip that Bruce had ever seen. Instead of risking losing a chunk of his flesh via alien laser, Bruce kicked the man’s arm away from both their bodies, and the shot blazed a giant hole in the lawn.</p><p>And then he knocked out the bank robber, this time tying his to a nearby streetlight and sending his directions to the police. He could already hear sirens in the background.</p><p>“Robin? Report,” Bruce barked, already dashing towards the lake where Dick had been leading the man towards.</p><p>There was no response. Bruce’s heartrate picked up, and he ran faster than he’d thought he could.</p><p>There was no one at the lake when he arrived. Bruce wasted no time in panicking, trying to reach Dick over the comms once again. He tapped on the tiny computer in his gauntlet, honing in on the tracker that Dick carried.</p><p>Bruce frowned. The tracker showed Dick was ten metres in front of him, but that meant…</p><p>Bruce’s eyes widened. He put on a rebreather, taking a running leap towards the lake and jumping in as far as he could, then swimming towards where the beacon pointed Dick to be. His cowl helped his vision; without it, in this darkness and the pitch-black water, he would’ve essentially been blind.</p><p>Bruce found himself wishing, for the first time since Dick had started going out as Robin, that Dick’s wings would be that luminescent golden, so Bruce could <em>fucking find him</em>.</p><p>He glanced at his gauntlet again, and dove deeper. Something was coming right at him, but it wasn’t Dick, because Dick wasn’t that huge, which meant that it was that damn robber who was the reason Dick was here in the lake in the first place.</p><p>Despite everything that told him otherwise, Bruce dove for the third bank robber, grabbing him round the waist and heading upwards. The body was still in his arms, heavy with the weight of his clothing.</p><p>There was an officer waiting by the edge of the lake when Bruce got there, either having followed Bruce or been summoned by Dick. Bruce hoped for the latter.</p><p>“Batman!” the officer said. “Is he…”</p><p>Bruce shook his head. “CPR. <em>Now</em>.” Everything in him told Bruce to dive back in, to keep searching the murky lake for Robin, but he had to be logical. “Robin called you?”</p><p>The officer nodded a little nervously. “He’s over there. Get him dry soon, would you?”</p><p>Bruce hadn’t realised, when Robin had first started out, that the rest of Gotham would think that he was some sort of kidnapper who was forcing a child to be a crime fighter, but that was an oversight entirely on his part. It’d been a couple of months and he still wasn’t used to it.</p><p>Bruce crept through the shadows to where Dick had just finished speaking with the officer leading the other two bank robbers into the van. He was wrapped in a shock blanket, evidently provided by one of the paramedics. His wing paint was beginning to come off; parts of the gold were showing through the artificial blackness.</p><p>“Robin,” Batman called, a tone just loud enough to get Dick’s attention and no one else’s.</p><p>Dick turned at his voice, a look of relief shining on his face. He said goodbye to the officers, who looked surprised as they repeated the words and took the blanket he’d removed from around his shoulders, and leapt into the shadows of the branches.</p><p>“Hey, B,” he said, finally allowing some of the shivers through in his voice. He held his wings very carefully apart from his body.</p><p>“You did good tonight,” Bruce told him. “C’mon. Home.”</p><p>Dick must’ve been colder than he’d let on, because he nodded without complaint and followed Bruce to where he called the Batmobile to.</p><p>Dick started swaying about halfway there, and Bruce, alarmed, stopped both of them.</p><p>“Report,” he said sternly, trying to get through the haze of Dick’s head right now.</p><p>“Uh,” Dick said, blinking a little. “Jumped down from the tree right in front of the robber. That <em>really</em> freaked him out, and he jumped into the lake. I thought he’d resurface but apparently he can’t swim, so I went in after him to fish him out – get it, <em>fish</em> him ou—okay, <em>okay</em>, quit it with the <em>glare</em> – and I called the cops before because I couldn’t get you over the comms and you said to call them if I caught a crook and I was alone, and this situation <em>definitely</em> counted. But I couldn’t find him in there, and I looked <em>all over</em> that gross lake, and then the police arrived with the other two and they got me out ‘cause apparently I was <em>this</em>,” he showed Bruce with a gloved finger, “close to getting hypothermia and drowning, and I went over ‘cause I thought <em>you</em> were with them—”</p><p>Bruce held up a hand, halting the barely cohesive word vomit that had just erupted from Dick’s mouth. Six months ago, he probably wouldn’t’ve been able to catch nearly as much as he had, even with all his training. “So, what you’re telling me is you went for a dunk in the lake in the middle of winter.”</p><p>“It’s not winter <em>yet</em>,” Dick mumbled even as another shiver wracked him. “An’ I told you a <em>lot</em> more than that, B.”</p><p>Bruce let out a breath. “Come here. We need you to be much warmer than you are now. And to start thinking about a modified winter suit, even if it hampers your movement.”</p><p>Dick didn’t say anything as Bruce practically cradled him to his chest. Although the Batsuit was also wet, he was now shielded from the chilly breeze, and Dick sighed as his bare arms and legs were pressed against something warmer than the freezing winter air.</p><p>But his wings were still hanging loose, dripping disgusting lake water and paint. Bruce didn’t think about the usual things that made him hesitate, things like <em>intimacy</em> and whether Dick would <em>want</em> to be touched by Bruce’s wings, things like their relationship progressing beyond the partnership they’d both agreed upon. He shook his wings out once more, and brought them forward to wrap around Dick’s wings.</p><p>Dick froze instantly, going rigid in Bruce’s arms. Bruce’s steps didn’t falter, but something in his stomach sank at the blatant rejection. But he couldn’t retract the wings now – Dick <em>needed</em> to be warmer.</p><p>“You don’t have to do that,” Dick got out through chattering teeth. Where he’d previously been a soft bundle in Bruce’s arms, he was now all sharp edges; it felt as though Bruce was holding a particularly disgruntled cat who was prepared to jump out at any moment.</p><p>“Do what?” <em>Keep him warm? </em>Of course Bruce had to do that – he was Dick’s <em>partner</em>.</p><p>“Touch my wings,” Dick mumbled. “I know you don’t like them.”</p><p><em>Now</em> Bruce’s steps faltered. “What makes you think I don’t like your wings?”</p><p>Dick wouldn’t meet his eyes. He fiddled with the grooves in Bruce’s armour as he answered, “You never <em>normally</em> touch them. When I hug you. You always keep them behind you. And then you wanted me to put the paint on them to hide them.”</p><p>Bruce couldn’t answer for a moment. He had no idea how he could’ve given off something so far beyond his intention. “Dick,” he said, voice rumbling as he tried for a tone that wasn’t Batman’s growl or Bruce Wayne’s drawl. “I love your wings.”</p><p>“B, I don’t feel <em>that</em> bad. You don’t have to make me feel better. A <em>lot</em> of people don’t like my wings—”</p><p>“Who doesn’t like your wings?” Bruce’s voice was sharp now.</p><p>Dick shrugged. “Y’know,” he said. “Kids at school and stuff. They keep saying my wing colour is contagious and the other kids will catch it, and now kids’ll only come near me when they want to pluck out the shiny ones.”</p><p>Bruce’s arms tightened as a wave of fury swept through him, his own wings coming in to create a cocoon around Dick. “And the teachers have done nothing,” he said grimly, already knowing the answer.</p><p>Dick didn’t respond, confirming it.</p><p>“Kids – <em>people – </em>don’t like things that’re different,” Bruce said, in an effort to explain to Dick that it wasn’t his fault, that he wasn’t a target because there was something wrong with <em>him</em>. “They haven’t seen wings the shape that yours are, and are so used to wings common to people in this <em>state</em> – not even <em>country</em> – that your wing shape and colour seems alien to them. Kids attack things that they don’t know, because they haven’t been taught better. It has nothing to do with your wings, Dick. You shouldn't feel ashamed of them.”</p><p>“I know,” Dick said in a small voice, but he’d relaxed slightly. “But you still wanted me to cover them up. I saw the designs on the Batcomputer for the wing cases that were going to give them a more generic, middle class Gothamite look.”</p><p>“The cases were for the sake of our identity,” Bruce said. “Your wings are very distinctive. And the wing paint wasn’t because I don’t like their colour, because I do. You’ve never known me to hide the truth of my opinion from you.”</p><p>“Then why wouldn’t you ever touch them?” Dick demanded. “Your <em>fingers</em> have never touched them, either, not even when you were painting them before patrol. Do you know how <em>hard</em> it is to <em>do</em> that?”</p><p>Bruce grimaced. “I’m sorry,” he said, discarding his words of <em>I was second guessing myself</em> and <em>too many adults tried to embrace me with their whole body when I was your age and I always hated it</em> <em>and I assumed you would too.</em> “I didn’t know you wanted me to.”</p><p>Dick turned a little in his arms. “I guess I could’ve reached out, too,” he said. “I was just waiting for <em>you</em> to.”</p><p>Bruce’s mouth turned up at the corners at that.</p><p>They’d finally reached the Batmobile. Bruce deposited Dick in the passenger seat, sliding into his own and calling Alfred.</p><p>“We’re on our way back,” Bruce told him when he picked up.</p><p>“I shall ready the snacks, then,” Alfred responded.</p><p>“Thanks, Alfred. Can you make hot chocolate, too? Robin took a dive in the lake.” Bruce could <em>see</em> the expression on Alfred’s face at the thought of the horrendous lake water.</p><p>“Of course, sir,” Alfred said. “I will also prepare the fireplace.”</p><p>Bruce could see Dick’s smile in his peripheral vision, and that in turn made <em>him</em> smile.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!!</p><p>Hmu on <a href="https://fanfictiongreenirises.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a> ^~^</p></blockquote></div></div>
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